The Best He Had
by Hoodoo
Summary: Young Murdock needs a babysitter. He never expects the one he gets.
1. Chapter 1

Standard Disclaimer: No recognizable characters are mine.

Notes: Based on a discussion on the LJ A-Team Prompt community: young Murdock's babysitters. The discussion veered towards cracky; this however, is more melancholy. This could be set within in the TV!verse, but my mind's eye tends to see the characters from the movie, so I'm putting it here. Feel free to substitute a younger version of whichever Murdock you prefer.

Enjoy!

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><p>There was a list held by a magnet that looked like a daisy on the refrigerator.<p>

_Bedtime is 8:30_

_NO TV until homework and chores are done_

_No sugar_

_No red dye_

_No telephone_

_No climbing on the roof_

_No going near the electric fence_

_NO snakes brought indoors_

_No chasing/roping/riding cattle . . ._

The list was organic in that occasionally it grew. Like he did, although it didn't have little pencil marks on the doorframe to mark it. New objectives were added as needed.

Most sitters didn't need the list. Granma didn't, that was for sure; she even added to it. The ladies from the church—Granma's friends—didn't either. They knew the rules, just like he did, and as long as he was quiet, they let him alone so they could watch their stories on the TV.

"NO TV" didn't count towards them. He supposed it didn't really count towards him either, when they watched, especially when sometimes they wanted him to turn the dial ("Don't spin it so fast!") to a different station so they didn't have to get up off the sofa.

He hated their stories. Everyone on them was too pretty, too perfect, with problems that made no lick of sense. He had to do things to keep from being bored!

Usually after he got bored the list got bigger.

He knocked some of the dust off his broken down sneakers ("_Shoes off in the mudroom_") before kicking them into a pile of footwear after school, and went into the kitchen. He was allowed a snack after school, after getting off the bus, before doing his homework, and Granma and the ladies from the church usually had a dry sandwich and glass of milk waiting for him.

He pulled up short at the teenager in the kitchen. A young lady, his Granma would say.

She looked up from the book she'd been reading on the window seat and smiled.

"You must be Hamish," she said. "Hi!"

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><p><em>note: Also in discussion was Murdock's first name. I understand many people who write A-Team fanfic have settled on 'James' for him. I personally don't care for it. I prefer something that goes along with his initials (H.M.), and wanted something that was going to fit him but also be something he'd maybe just want to forgo and use his initials instead. Creative license, I suppose.<em>


	2. Chapter 2

He was stuck. Who was this? He'd never had a teenager here before; where was Granma? Where was Mrs. Baker from the church? Or Mrs. Williams?

The teenager got up and left her book.

"I'm Suzy," she introduced herself, sticking her hand out.

He automatically took it; he'd been drilled proper manners.

"Nice to meet you, Hamish!"

"No one calls me Hamish," he muttered, dropping her hand and rubbing his palm on his pants. Proper manners aside, she was a _girl_ and the jury was still out on whether or not they had cooties.

"Oh?" Suzy said, her brow furrowed. "What do people call you?"

"H.M., mostly. Hamish Malcolm Murdock, by my Granma if I'm in trouble."

"Well, H.M. it is then."

He nodded.

"You want something to eat? Your mom said that your bus ride is pretty long. I'll get you something, okay?"

He nodded again and took his bag to the table. Homework, then chores. Suzy could watch her stories and he'd be tending the chickens and back in before dinnertime. He knew the routine.

By the time he had set his books just right and laid out his pencils just so—the bitten one had to be perpendicular to the one with the green eraser, it just had to!—Suzy was at his side with a plate of mama's potato salad and a banana.

He looked surprised at the offerings. No sandwich? A _banana?_

"For me?" he asked.

Suzy shrugged. "If you want it."

"Bananas are expensive," H.M. said in awe. He'd never had a whole banana before. Just browning slices, occasionally, in the school's chemically-tasting banana pudding.

She shrugged again. "I work part time at the grocery store. Sometimes I get bananas. It's okay, you can have it."

He looked up at her, expecting some kind of trick, but she only nodded and smiled. He took it and tried to peel it, but couldn't seem to get it open. Suzy showed him how to use a thumbnail to make a little cut near the stem, and then the yellow peel zipped right off, revealing the fruit inside like a secret.

That banana tasted exotic and wild, and he felt like one of those monkeys in Africa he'd seen a picture of in Granpa's musty old encyclopedia.

H.M. grinned.


	3. Chapter 3

Suzy was different than his other sitters. She didn't watch stories, for one thing. That was a big one, because if she didn't watch stories, she actually watched him.

She wasn't like any other girl he'd known before.

She sat beside him while he did his homework. Usually he was pretty quick, and he hardly ever needed help, so she just read whatever book she'd brought for that day.

When he had to do a book report and she saw his book was Moby Dick, she looked surprised. That wasn't an uncommon reaction to his reading material; most people were surprised that an eight year old would be reading that, or anything, really. So her reaction wasn't unexpected; her discussing it with him was.

She helped him with some of his chores: feeding the chickens and hunting eggs. The danger of the rooster going after him was much less when she was around, so he was grateful for that.

H.M. didn't like the geese either. They were noisy, smelly birds, hissing and cocky. He'd just gotten tall enough that they couldn't tower over him, but it was still close. They never hesitated to go after him if he got too close to whatever they thought was their territory that day, and their orange beaks were strong enough to leave horrible bruises and welts on his back and arms and legs.

Suzy taught him to just stand up to them, even if they were rushing him.

They'd just stop, she told him, if you don't run away. And if you're quick enough to grab their necks, they just collapse.

He didn't believe her, until the first time the biggest, meanest goose tried to chase her. Suzy just reached right out and caught him, and he went boneless, just like she said.

H.M. laughed and she let him pet the cowed bird—he'd never touched one of the geese before! When she let go, the goose scrambled away, hissing the whole time, but keeping a wary eye on her.

It would be awhile before he was brave enough to grab one of them, but at least now he had a tactic to help protect himself.

He didn't have to slop the pigs; he was still too young for that, but occasionally they went down to the pen. If the big sow lay against the plywood railing, they scratched her back to hear her little grunts.

Once he screwed up the courage to tell her she talked funny. Suzy laughed and teased that _he_ talked funny, which wasn't true because everyone else talked like him and she was the only one who didn't!

She laughed again and told him people everywhere had different accents, and people from Ohio sounded different than people from Texas. He guessed that was true, because people on TV didn't sound like him, unless mama was watching the Dallas TV show that he wasn't allowed to see all because of all the naughty things on it.

He discovered he didn't want to watch TV as much when Suzy was around, because there was so much more to do.


	4. Chapter 4

Suzy worked part time at the grocery, she said, which meant she could only work part time for mama too. That was sad, because all the days she wasn't there in the kitchen when he burst in from the mudroom (he actually knew before then, because she had a little moped she rode and Granma and Mrs. Baker and Mrs. Williams had cars, so one of them would be in the dirt driveway, but he sometimes walked up the drive from the road with his eyes closed so it'd be a bigger surprise) meant another dull day and probably a new rule going up on the refrigerator list.

Suzy had read the list. He'd watched her out of the corner of his eye while doing his homework. He was slightly ashamed, growing red at the tips of his ears as he watched, because he knew that she would know rules had to be made For His Own Protection.

She had read the list and sat down beside him. H.M. studiously looked at his math problem.

"You're not allowed on the roof."

He glanced at her. She didn't sound accusatory.

"Nope."

"Did you go on the roof?"

He hesitated.

"Just curious, that's all."

"A cat was stuck up there!" he blurted. "I had to save it!"

She smiled a little bit, like she could tell there was more.

He'd found he couldn't lie to her, not really.

"And it's nice up there," he mumbled towards his paper. "The shingles get real hot, and feel nice on your back and the sun just bakes you. I can watch the buzzards circling up in the sky, and it's almost like I could fly too, on the air currents way up there, even if there's no breeze down here.

"And if you stand up real careful—I'm always careful!—you can see further than anything."

She smiled again, a brighter, more open smile.

"It sure does get hot here, doesn't it?" she asked.

He shrugged.

"It's so hot I can barely stand it, sometimes."

"Isn't it hot in Ohio?"

"Sure can be. But then there's fall and winter and spring, so we get all sorts of different weather."

"And snow?"

"Lots of snow!"

H.M. had never seen snow, and could only imagine what it might be like.

"You finish that math?"

"Yeah . . ."

"Would you like to go to the crick?"

The _crick?_ It took him a second to translate "crick" into "creek". The _creek_ wasn't quite forbidden, it wasn't on the list, but H.M. was sure it should be. It had the feel of something that should be . . .

He didn't hesitate to exclaim, "Yeah!"

The two of them took off across the cow pasture towards it, kicking up startled grasshoppers as they made their way through the scrub. H.M. had never met a girl—a young lady—who didn't mind the dust or the scratches on her legs from jaggers. He had never met one who pointed out tracks in the dust—

"See those hoof marks? Javelinas!"

—or one who told him she knew he wasn't supposed to _chase_ the cattle, per se, but showed him that cows were an odd combination of curious and skittish. And if they stood still long enough, the yearling steers might get bold and come close, closer, closest to snort on them with grassy drool and maybe even lick them with rough, slimy tongues—

"Because we're sweaty! They like the salt!"

—but then if they moved the steers scattered, and then followed at a safe distance behind, in case scary humans ran at them.

He asked her how she knew about cattle, and she said her Granpa had a dairy farm. So she didn't know about beef cattle, but knew about heifers and milking.

She also knew about catching crawdads (she called them crayfish, silly Ohioan!) without letting them pinch you and how to pull leeches off. She also climbed a tree with him—trees weren't the roof! she said, and he couldn't fault her logic—and they found a bird's nest in the branches. It was empty, but that was okay; it was still interesting to see the horse hair mama bird used in its construction.

By the time they got back from the creek the mud had dried itchy on their legs and mosquitoes were eating them alive as Grandma would say.

Suzy drove off on her little electric bike in the deepening dusk while H.M. waved and shouted bye, before mama swatted him on his behind to hurry him up to his bath.


	5. Chapter 5

"Hey, Suzy! Can we go down to the crick today?"

H.M had been practicing forming words and imitating his favorite babysitter's accent and her speech patterns. At first the nasal tones felt odd in his mouth, but the more he practiced, the easier it became. His Granma said he sounded uppity, but he still worked on it in secret, because he could pretend to be someone brand new if he sounded different.

"Hey, H.M.," she replied as he dropped his bag on the table. "No, I don't think I can go down to the crick today."

He tried not to look too disappointed. Lately Suzy'd been less and less willing to be real active, like she had several months ago. She seemed tired a lot, and sat down a lot, and H.M. knew it wasn't polite but she looked like she was getting F-A-T, even if she didn't eat a whole bunch.

"One of my friends in Ohio sent me something, though, and I wanted to show you."

Natural curiosity overruled disappointment. "What is it?"

"Finish your homework and I'll show you."

His homework was done in record time.

Suzy took him by the hand and they sat together on the front porch swing. She pulled out an envelope—a letter? That was disappointing too, he'd hoped for something exciting—and unfolded the paper within. She didn't give him the letter, though. She shook out a handful of brownish-greenish oblong things into her lap.

H.M. picked one up. "What is this?"

"It's a seed," Suzy replied. "A sugar maple seed! There are sugar maples in Ohio, and people tap them to get the sap to make syrup.""

"Why does it look so weird?"

"You know that plants spread their seeds, right?"

He nodded; of course he knew that. Like fluffy dandelion heads blowing away, or burrs catching on your pant legs—

"Well, maples spread their seeds like this!"

She took a few of the oddly-shaped seeds and tossed them, underhanded, into the air.

The seeds and their single wings twisted and turned and drifted crazily through the air. It was the most amazing thing he ever saw, and he laughed out loud at the sight.

"They're little helicopters! They're just like little helicopters!" he shouted, and leapt from the porch to try and catch the ones still making their way to the ground.

Suzy tossed the ones remaining in her lap out into the wild and H.M. spent a large part of that late afternoon throwing them and collecting them and throwing them again. They captivated him, those miniature propellers, and he thought he could see exactly how they worked, and how they spun to have more lift. He sacrificed a few to see if he could turn up their edges and make them stay airborne longer, for longer distances, but most he kept whole.

His modifications didn't seem to do better than what God had made for maple trees, anyway.

Suzy finally asked him to come in; it was almost time for dinner.

He did so with the maple seeds cupped carefully in his hand. Suzy gave him a jar to keep them in. She told him his mama asked if she would stay late tonight, because then she would be able to take a double shift.

That was more than fine with H.M.

So she cut apart the leftover chicken from Sunday's dinner and made sandwiches, and she'd brought two oranges from the grocery—they were almost, almost this side of going bad, but still tasted sweet and tangy to his unsophisticated palate—and he thought that was good enough for dessert but Suzy was full of surprises that day.

For dessert she handed him a cherry popsicle she'd hidden in the freezer. It was two prohibited items in one from the refrigerator list, but she whispered it would be their little secret.

Then she let him stay up late and they looked at the stars. It was interesting that he knew more about constellations than she did, and he felt proud he could point some of them out to her. Finally she told him he had to go to bed.

He did, because he knew he had to, but asked if she'd tell him a story. He wouldn't have done that if he hadn't been giddy from the maple seeds and emboldened by the sweets. He should have bartered for TV time, then he could talk about the same things as the kids at school did, but he'd never get her accent right if she didn't talk to him more.

Suzy glanced at the clock and agreed.

He asked for a scary story. She thought about it a bit, then told him a story about a man who didn't like his neighbor's eye, a dead eye, a vulture's eye, and how he murdered the old man to get rid of it, then just as the police officers believe that he didn't do anything, the beating of the old man's heart under the floorboards (buh-dub, buh-dub, Buh-Dub, BUH-DUB) make him confess to the killing!

H.M. clutched at her arm and squealed at the reveal. Suzy patted his hair and told him he had his story, now go to sleep.

She left the room.

In the dark, he could hear that old man's heart. He could sense the mounting dread of the killer—

"SUZY!"

She may have been more tired lately, but she ran back to his room quick as anything.

"Are you okay? Oh, H.M., I'm sorry! I shouldn't have told you something scary—" she apologized as she hugged him and stroked his hair. "—I'm so sorry!"

Muffled by her hug, he asked, "Could you tell me another?"

She pulled back to look at him and his eager, not-scared eyes, and laughed and laughed.


	6. Chapter 6

It wasn't much longer after that when Suzy went away.

She had a few more afternoons with him, but she was really tired then, and held her belly a lot. He'd bugged her and bugged her for another scary story, so she told him more Poe stories ("The Black Cat" was a favorite because there were black cats in the barn, and he could pretend about them, as was "The Pit and the Pendulum") after making him promise he wouldn't tell his mama or Granma he'd been exposed to such things.

He did one better and pinky-swore on it.

She had laughed as he crooked his little finger on hers, and told him if she had a boy, she hoped it would be like him.

Suddenly, in the mind-numbing way that brand new thoughts sometimes jump on people, H.M. realized she was going to have a baby.

He blurted it out in surprise. She took the news calmly.

"Yes, I'm going to have a baby."

"But . . . but you're not married! Where's your husband, if you have a baby in there?"

Suzy smiled a little at him, and even at his tender age he could tell it was a sad smile. "I don't have a husband, H.M. I have a guy in Ohio who sends me letters, but he's not my husband. It's hard to explain . . ."

"But you'll get married, and then have the baby?"

Her smile faltered, and tears welled up in his eyes because tears appeared in hers.

"No . . . I may get married, but I won't have this baby. It's . . . it's just complicated."

It was too complicated for her to continue, apparently, because she didn't say anything more. H.M. didn't know what to say either, so he hugged her. She hugged him back and he felt her tears in his hair, but he didn't care.

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><p>H.M. didn't ask his mama about it, not that specifically. When Suzy stopped being there in the afternoons when he got off the bus, instead it was Granma or a church lady more consistently, he asked about her absence, but didn't tell them he knew she was 'with child', as Granma would say.<p>

He was told she'd only been down here for a little while, staying with relatives. She'd needed some time away from her home, they told him. Mama was happy she'd been able to help the poor girl out, she said.

Later that night, after he'd asked about Suzy, he crept out of his bedroom and listened to the conversation between mama and Granma.

"Poor girl," one of them said.

"She was so sweet. H.M. loved her. Too bad she was in such trouble."

"Yes, well . . . now she's back to her life."

Trouble? H.M. thought. Young ladies got in trouble?

A creeping realization came up on him: young ladies and adults and everyone had lists of rules! He didn't know Suzy was in trouble. He didn't know she broke the rules. Did she know, when she broke them? He guessed even if it wasn't on a list on the refrigerator, she figured it out when they sent her away from Ohio all the way down to Texas, because of her trouble.

He never saw her again, but thought of her often. Once, the next fall, he got an envelope in the mail, addressed just to him. "H.M. Murdock." It felt bumpy, and when he opened it, there was no letter inside; it was just completely stuffed full of sugar maple helicopter seeds. The scent of dried leaves and a chilly Ohio autumn wafted from the paper envelope, and his mama asked what that was, exactly.

H.M. laughed and threw a few of the seeds in the house, even if that would be written on the refrigerator list. It never was, though. Mama seemed as captivated as he was by the twisting, floating seeds.

He had pinky-sworn something to Suzy, and even if he never saw her again in his life he resolved that he'd never get a young lady in trouble.

_fin._


End file.
